Staccato
by Tenbris
Summary: "The resonance of their souls was marked by a staccato rhythm." Series of theme-based oneshots, focusing on Soul and Maka.
1. Deception

**Deception**

He never meant to let it get this bad.

Soul clutched his chest, air being forced into his lungs with ragged breaths. Flashes of red and black danced across his field of vision while stabs of heat shot through his limbs with every breath.

He never meant to let it get out of hand.

Soul's black blood was acting up more and more. During battle with Maka he would allow its power to flow between them, its madness becoming strength that resonated with their intertwined souls. And it _worked_. Without any repercussions for dancing with the devil, they would take down their targets and claim victory. Maka's anti-demon wavelength kept the black blood from taking hold within her soul, and that power became Soul's as well when they were in resonance.

Or, that's what he let her believe.

Instead of the madness ebbing away after the fights ended, it flitted through the shadows of Soul's mind, vying for control. It would whisper sweet seductions, promising power, power to _protect her_, to _keep her safe_.

He hated having to hide it from her.

When Soul rejected the madness, kicked the damn ogre across the room in his soul, the madness lashed back. It was not just part of his mind, no; it flowed through his blood, and it was well aware of its ability to torture Soul. The ogre would sneer, slumped against the wall in the black room, and ask him why.

_ "Why are you so stubborn? You want to protect her. Sure, you're doing an okay job now, but you're a goddamn Death Scythe. You'll be sent away soon, and you'll be too far to keep her safe. I could give you the power to keep her safe from any distance."_

He hated how goddamn _tempting_ it all was starting to sound.

Even so, he fought the madness. He fought back the burning in his blood, the laughter in his head as the ogre watched him suffer, the flames in his lungs with every breath. He fought against the temptation to make the madness his own.

He fought against the temptation to use it to _claim her_.

_"How cute. You think it's noble that you're holding back on her. You think that her knowing that you suffer for her, that you fight madness for her, would make her wonder _why_. Why would her dearest weapon put himself through this hell, when he could just not use the black blood as often?"_

"Shut up."

_"You want her."_

"Shut the fuck up!"

_"You can't stand the thought of her getting hurt. You're infatuated with your meister, who doesn't even give you a second glance as a man."_

The ogre was flung across the room, crashing into the shiny black shape of the piano, a dissonant clang erupting from it as the creature hit the keys.

The demon scoffed. _"You're a fool. You can either watch from the background, not making any moves to keep her close, or you can claim the power you deserve and make her yours, keep her safe. You can't do both. You can't walk that line between them, using your power to protect her but not forcing yourself on her. That will kill you."_

He hated how right the damned ogre was starting to sound.

Soul sat upright and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Still clutching his chest, feeling the burn with each breath he took, he stumbled out his bedroom door and towards Maka's bedroom. He heard the ogre sigh in frustration then turn and walk out of the black room as her wavelength got closer.

Maka was startled awake as her bed shifted, about to spin around and attack the intruder when Soul reached out to her with his wavelength in the dark, a quiet, "Sorry, it's me," breaking the nighttime silence. She could feel his wavelength prodding hers with apprehension, requesting comforting he could never bring his oh-so-cool self to ask for out loud. Eyes still closed, she let her soul reach out to his, and they ever so softly resonated. She could feel his pain, whatever it was from, fading as their resonance bonded their souls. He could feel her concern and confusion; she knew something was wrong, but she would not ask. He did not want her to ask.

The remaining pain from the madness clawing through his veins dissipated. His body trembled as her soul, bright and beautiful, brushed away the shadows.

"...Soul."

"Yeah?"

"Tell me tomorrow."

He never meant for it to get out of hand. He had just wanted to protect her, his beautiful meister with jade green eyes and soul of an angel. When had it become more than a job? A while ago, he was sure. When did his desire to protect her become so strong that he would give in to madness, suffer through insanity, to make sure not a single new scar marred her porcelain skin?

Soul sighed and pulled Maka closer to him.

"Yeah. Tomorrow, Maka."

Tomorrow he would stop this deception.


	2. Apprehension

**Apprehension**

Her lips tasted like peppermint.

Maka had pinned Soul against the inside of their closed door and pressed her lips against his, the pressure of her mouth on his and the flavor of her nighttime tea overwhelming his senses.

Soul couldn't hold back a throaty groan as her fingers threaded themselves through his hair. If Maka were to change her mind right now and Maka Chop him to death, he would _die happy_. Throwing caution to the wind, Soul wrapped his arms around Maka, his hands landing on her hips, and pulled her flush against his body.

Soul almost came undone when he heard a happy whimper escape Maka's lips.

His meister was kissing him.

His meister, _Maka_, the notorious man-hater, was _kissing_ him, and _she started it_.

And she was _enjoying herself_.

Yeah. Soul would die happy... after the inevitable Maka Chop for stopping her.

With a small _pop_, Soul removed his meister from his lips. He looked into her eyes, at her pink lips, her flushed cheeks... _God _he didn't want to stop her. Soul gently pushed Maka backwards, leading her to sit on her bed.

Maka's confused expression melted to a sly smile as she grabbed Soul's wrist and tried to tug him down onto the bed with her. Instead of falling forward and continuing their activities, though, Soul hesitantly sat beside her. "Maka..."

Maka's brows furrowed. She bit her lip (_dear lord did Soul want to kiss those very lips whenever she did that_) and looked away. "Okay. Fine. Just get out if you don't want this."

Fuck.

Soul sighed. "Maka, no. That's not it." She looked up at him, confusion once again showing. Another sigh. This was _not_ going to be cool. Hoping to keep the pink quickly staining his cheeks from spreading, he took a deep breath and continued. "It's not that I don't want to keep doing... whatever that was. _God_ Maka, you don't know how long I've wanted to do just that, but–"

"Then why did you stop me?" Maka refused to make eye contact with Soul. "You say you've wanted to kiss me, but you always used to talk about how _flat_ I am, how I have no _sex appeal_, how nobody would want me... Even after I turned you into a Death Scythe, _you_ were the one who got the partner requests, not me." Soul heard her breath hitch and her shoulders tremble as she took an unsteady breath. "I can't lose you."

"You think I'm going to _leave_ you?" Maka flinched at the harshness in Soul's voice, but did not look up. "God dammit, Maka," sighed Soul as he ran his fingers through his hair. "You see me throw out the letters every fucking day. You see me turn down all those girls who approach me, confessing their _undying love_ for me or whatever bullshit they want to call it." He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. Her fogged eyes glittered with tears, her cheeks were stained pink. Soul almost lost his resolve at her prone expression, but he steeled himself and continued.

"Make what you want of this, Maka, but I'm not going to leave you. I am your weapon –and by that, I mean _yours_–, so there is no chance of _me_ leaving _you_. If you want me gone, I will leave, but only at your call. If you tell me to leave, I can do it. But I'll be damned if I'd ever leave _you_ behind. That's just not cool."

"Soul–"

"I'm not finished." Maka bit her lip again after being interrupted – _fuck_, what would he give to be the one doing the biting? But no, he had to get this in the open. "I don't know what you were thinking, Maka." Soul raised a hand, silencing his meister's defense before she could make it. "I know it wasn't out of some sudden infatuation with me. Hell, I don't know what you _do_ feel about me, but no matter what it is, you're not the type to just throw yourself at a guy. It leaves you too prone."

A gentle glow filled the room as Soul's forearm transformed into a blade. Maka flinched and tried to meet Soul's gaze, but his eyes focused on his arm. "I'm your weapon, Maka. I'm not leaving you. I will protect you with this blade, with my _life_." He turned to meet her gaze from the corner of his eye. "My existence revolves around you. And I am _not your father_. I will _not_ betray you."

It was as if Maka's quiet nervousness had shattered into a cacophony of emotions.

Maka stood up, face flushed red. Her expression was torn between confusion, pain, joy, and fear. For a moment her eyes darted to her bookcase, fingers twitching towards a particularly large tome, but she remained still.

Soul quietly returned his cold blade to its original warm flesh. His gaze focused on his hands, knotted in his lap.

"If you want to press me against your door, kiss me, do whatever... I'm cool with that. I'd like that – a lot. But I don't want it to be because you're afraid I'll leave otherwise, and I don't want you to be afraid of what will happen after." He looked up, meeting her tumultuous gaze. "Because if you decide that you want to do those things with me, there will be changes. It will not be the same with us."

She found her voice.

"...Are you really not going to leave?"

He didn't hesitate. "Never."

Soul rose to stand in front of her, so close that she could feel his breath. His soul was trembling, and she realized that he was terrified of what the consequences of his confessions might be.

Once again, she bit her lip, swallowing her fear and trying to hold back the pink that tinged her cheeks.

"Do you... think I'm pretty?"

She was _not _expecting laughter. Being swept off her feet, maybe. A sudden, deep kiss, hands roaming? Sure. But laughter?

Soul chuckled, deep and rumbling. "Maka, you're beautiful. Sure, you aren't exactly _curvy_–" Her glare would petrify lesser men. "–but that's not all there is to a person. You are so strong. So courageous. So determined, and so strong-willed. I would follow you to the ends of the earth."

"That sounds like a cop-out of an answer."

Soul exposed his teeth with a grin. "I don't think that my full answer would be _appropriate_ for our current situation." Maka's slight flush transformed into a burning blush. _Oh_.

Soul's wolfish grin faded around the edges. "But really, Maka, I know you aren't ready for this. You shouldn't be doing this just to try to keep me around. You don't know how to trust men, or how to fall for someone, and that's cool. I'll just have to prove to you that I'm not going anywhere. And then, whenever you're ready... I'll be waiting."

And even after they retired to their separate rooms, both of them embarrassed and nervous and brimming with anticipation, Soul's words echoed in Maka's mind.

Her cheeks burned, face buried in her pillows to hide it from the moon's light, as she turned the words over in her mind, unable to find a single reason to not believe him and his unspoken confession, somehow stronger without being put into words.

_ I will never stop waiting_.


	3. Blood

**Warning: Possible character death, depending on how you want to imagine it ending.**

* * *

**Blood**

Her hands were painted red with his blood.

It was all her fault. If she hadn't hesitated with that one parry, _do I block or go for the kill_, he wouldn't have transformed from cold, hard steel into soft, _frail_ flesh. Flesh that could bleed. Flesh that was torn in front of her, _flashes of a time long past, his body lacerated and stained red_, torn by her faults, her fears.

He had played it off. With a smirk –_she saw it wavering, she saw right through his cool act_– he forced his body back into scythe form, somehow more dull than usual, and with _bloody, fearsome rage_ Maka finished of the Kishin egg.

The moment their resonance broke, the moment his human form emerged from metal, Maka's scream pierced the heavens. His body lay still, _stained red like that time oh god please no not him_, prone on the ground.

Her voice was a frantic screech as she pressured his wound, _stop bleeding, oh please_, screaming for him, _don't leave me_, for her friends, _Kim, Stein, please, save him_, and to the heavens _don't you fucking dare take him from me, we aren't done yet_.

When she was torn from him, tall figures bustling around before removing Soul's body –_don't let it be a corpse_–, she could do nothing but sob for her partner, her friend, who was _so damn eager_ to throw his life away for her, as she waited for any news.

If he woke up... no, _when he woke up_, Maka would set him straight.

Until then, she would wait with his blood on her hands, her cheeks, her shirt, a reminder of his actions.

A reminder of his sacrifice.


	4. Tease

**A/N:** Holy crap. After chapter 3 was published, this story blew up on how many views it was getting, and I got my _first reviews, faves, and follows!_ You guys have no idea how happy that made me; here I was worrying that nobody was enjoying these stories, then BAM, feedback! I am thrilled!

Special thanks to Lisp, whose review made me feel confident that I should continue with these! It's great to hear that people think I can write Soul and Maka properly. Thanks so much!

This chapter is probably going to be a lot lighter than the others so far. We'll see if I can pull off flustered Maka!

* * *

**Tease**

Maka was _not_ attracted to her partner.

His deep red eyes, so damn _expressive_, weren't beautiful or mesmerizing.

His white hair, untidy and unruly, was _not_ adorable or endearing.

And his teeth, sharp enough to almost give away that he was a powerful weapon, were most definitely _not_ hot, and she had absolutely no desire to feel them _scraping against her earlobe, his warm breath teasing._

_ Nope_. _Not attracted._

So, when their thighs brushed from proximity during class, she did not get butterflies. She didn't flush pink when he leaned in towards her to tease her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. Her heartbeat was completely steady whenever he snarled at any guy brave enough to approach her–_few as they may be_, she admitted–, because she didn't like thinking that _maybe he was a bit possessive of her_.

No, Maka Albarn, self-proclaimed independent woman who did not need a man to make her happy, _because they all were cheating bastards_, was not the slightest bit attracted to her partner, Soul "Eater" Evans, whose soul and dedication to her she knew inside and out.

There was absolutely no reason for her to be nervous around Soul, so _why was she so flustered when the hotel room only had one bed_?

* * *

"You're sleeping on the floor."

Soul gawked at his meister, jaw slack as he deadpan stared at her. "_Excuse_ me? It's a fucking queen-sized mattress! You telling me you're gonna take up the whole thing yourself?" He snorted, scowling as he looked away. "Sorry, Maka, but that shit's not gonna fly this time. I'll stay on my half of the bed." He turned back to glance at his meister again, this time a smirk growing on his lips. "Don't worry, no way would I want to _cuddle_ with someone as flat as you."

So quickly that Maka's form became a blur, she turned, picked up a book, spun around, and brought it down on Soul's skull with a solid–_and oh-so-satisfying_–_THWACK_. "Idiot!"

Soul groaned from the floor. "_Fuck_, woman, you brought a book on an overnight mission? Goddamn, someday you're gonna actually damage my brain!"

"Well, maybe then you won't be so _mean_!"

A sigh escaped Soul's lips as he sat up, gingerly touching the knot on his head where Maka's book had connected. Obviously something was bugging her; she usually could handle his teasing. It was so _uncool_ to upset your meister... It wasn't like he _disliked_ her chest, not by a _long_ shot, but he grimaced imagining her reaction to that information coming to light.

Standing up, Soul turned to sit on the bed, still nursing his wound. "Sorry, Maka," he mumbled, trying to sound sincere. They still had a mission to complete after settling into the hotel room, after all, and it was hard to resonate when they were arguing. "It's uncool of me to joke like that. I know you're sensitive about your _size_–"

"MAKA CHOP!"

Soul drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, once again clutching his skull. "_Fuck_." Maybe that was the wrong way to go about apologizing.

Maka felt her face burning as she fought back tears that threatened to sting her eyes. "Idiot! Stupid Soul! Why are you so _insensitive_?" Even the way he was _sitting_ was endearing to her, and all he could think of her was about how nonexistent her chest was? _It was so unfair!_

She turned on her heel, the jacket of her Spartoi uniform flaring behind her. If there was anything that Maka Albarn was good at, it was denying emotions. Sometimes it came in handy. She would not think about her partner like that, not tonight. Not when it could compromise their job as a weapon-meister pair. "Get up, we have a mission to do."

And like the obedient weapon he was, Soul followed his orders. When she thought about it, he always did, without question. Sometimes she allowed her mind to wander and wonder why.

* * *

The mission was simple for Shibusen's dream team. The Kishin egg was not particularly strong; after a bit of chasing, one well-placed slash from the Witch Hunter was enough to send the Kishin into oblivion. While Soul transformed to collect the remaining red soul, Maka absentmindedly wondered what it was like to fall into madness from consuming souls. Were they _that_ tasty, enough to throw away humanity for?

Those thoughts came to a screeching halt as Maka's eyes settled onto Soul as he opened his mouth to devour the Kishin egg.

His lips parted and he licked them slowly. He bared his teeth, gleaming under the street lamps, and grinned as he lowered the soul towards his mouth. Soul's tongue snaked out of his mouth, almost _teasing_ the soul before he allowed it to fall completely into his mouth. _God, what else could that tongue do?_

Maka suddenly snapped up straight, eyes wide and cheeks red. Those were _not_ appropriate thoughts to be having, especially now, when she would have to share a bed with Soul! He was her _partner_, her _weapon_! But the way his eyes rolled back into his head, a groan of pleasure rumbling in his chest, when he swallowed the soul was just _exquisite_. Maka couldn't help but stare, and a small voice in the back of her mind wondered _if she could make him recreate that sound, so deep and animalistic_.

Nope. Maka Albarn was not attracted to her weapon. So, there was no reason for her to continue blushing, but _damn_ was her body betraying her. She swore she almost melted when his eyes, half lidded and shadowed with pleasure, opened and locked with hers.

The expression of enjoyment quickly disappeared from Soul's face. "Maka? Are you okay...?"

Her first reaction was anger. "Of course I am!" she snapped, scowling. _It's not like you're too attractive for your own good_. "Nothing's wrong."

"You're beet red. Not cool, Maka."

She wanted to disappear into the cobblestone walkway. "I am not! I'm not blushing!"

For a split second, a look of realization crossed Soul's face. It quickly faded into a shit-eating smirk. "Oh? Blushing? I just said you were red." He took a step towards her. She took a shaky step back. This was not happening. Not like this. _This was not how it happened in romance novels_. "I thought maybe you were just out of breath, or maybe that you had caught a cold." Another step. "But _blushing_? What could make the great Maka Albarn blush?"

He was close. He was _too damn close_. He had caught on to her moment of weakness and was sniffing her reason out like a goddamn bloodhound. His grin showed his sharp teeth, his eyes were glistening with mischief, and the slight sheen of sweat that coated his skin from the battle and the heat just made him look _all the more delectable_. _He had to know what he was doing to her_.

Maka could feel Soul's breath dance against her ear as he whispered to her, too petrified to push him away. "Could I be the one making you _lose your cool_, Maka?"

She could not take a single more moment of his _goddamn teasing_.

Before Soul could understand her actions, Maka had pushed him backwards, up the curb and against a wall. Her body was petite, a weak cage trapping him, but her eyes were ablaze with emotion, and Soul knew far better than to fuck with his meister's wishes when she was in a mood. He wondered if he had pushed her too far until her hand grabbed his uniform's tie and yanked his head down to her level.

_Oh_.

Maka hovered so close to Soul's lips that she could feel his breath on them, but she held back. She bit her lip to restrain herself, and Soul groaned quietly as he watched that small action.

"Why do you keep telling me how flat-chested I am?"

_That _was not what Soul expected to hear.

He stumbled for words, too caught up in his meister nibbling on her lip and how _fucking close they were to kissing_. "I, uh... what? Uhm. Maka. Is this the time? I mean... Sorry?"

She almost growled, and he noticed her blush deepening. Maka refused to make eye contact as she asked again. "Tell me. You're always putting me down, and that's okay, I understand that I'm not exactly the ideal girl, but then you turn around and _flirt_ with me like that, and I – I just don't know how to handle that, okay?" She would not let those tears that pricked at her eyes escape, not right now. Not when she was so close. "Cool guys don't do that – play with a girl's emotions."

Soul was quiet for at least a minute before answering; his judgment and thoughts were fogged by _her lips still being less than an inch from his, and she was still biting her lip_.

Maka was about to give in and allow a tear to escape when he spoke.

"It's a habit."

He supposed that he deserved the punch, a _real punch, _not a Maka Chop, that followed. Without any immediate follow up, it sounded pretty incriminating, and his meister knew it.

"A _habit_?" Maka dropped his tie and stepped back. The tears couldn't be held back anymore. "So flirting is a _habit_ for you now? Great. Okay. I guess all those love letters in your locker are there for a reason. You really _are_ just like him."

Soul grimaced and grabbed Maka by her shoulders. "No!" He sighed; this wasn't going to be cool. "That's not what I was talking about. I meant..." Another sigh. "Calling you flat-chested is the habit, not _flirting._ _God_ this is not cool. I just... You know that I started that when we were just kids. I was immature as fuck. Dealing with girls was _not_ something I was used to, and then suddenly I was sharing the most intimate details of my life with you.

"At first it was teasing. Then I actually started to _notice_ you. Like... notice you in a way that I wouldn't be caught dead letting Black Star know about." Maka's eyes widened; was he _blushing_? "Sure, you don't have Blair or Tsubaki's breasts–" It took all her energy to let him continue unpunished. "–but that doesn't make you _unattractive_." Soul looked upwards to conceal the deepening redness on his face. "I drew attention to them to distract myself from the fact that I _couldn't stop thinking about them_." He braced himself for the Maka Chop.

It never came.

"...You don't think I'm unattractive?" Why did her voice sound so meek, so worried?

He laughed once and looked down at her. "What you're lacking in your chest, you more than make up for with your legs and ass, Maka." There, that sounded cool, right? Soul assumed so, because his meister flushed a deep red.

She turned around, facing away from Soul and the wall where she _had pinned him and almost kissed him, oh god did she really do that, and was he really saying he was attracted to her_? "So...," she mumbled, making him strain his ears to hear, "they aren't... too small?"

He grinned.

Stepping forward and placing his hands on her hips, body flush against her back, Soul's voice breezed into her ear, deep and rough. "Of course not. Anything more than a _handful_ is a waste anyways."

He could almost feel her blush as if it were a fire beneath her skin.

She spun around, biting her lip again as if she was debating something. Her hands then once again snatched his tie and yanked him down.

This time their lips connected. It was clumsy, like many first kisses are; lips met lips a little too furiously, teeth clinked together, they had no idea how to use their tongues. But it was _Soul_ and _Maka_, and they were _kissing_, so her hands inevitably ended up in his hair and his on her hips, and if they were any closer together with any more pent-up longing, they would have melded into one.

And then it was over as quickly as it started; they stared at each other for a moment, both out of breath and red in the face, before realization of what just transpired set in.

Maka quickly stepped away from him, looking away to hide her red cheeks. "Hurry up and transform, we need to get back to the hotel soon." Of course, he obliged, being the obedient weapon he was.

As they flew over the streets, Maka tried extremely hard to not think that _she was essentially straddling Soul's weapon form_ and focused on the report she would have to write up about their mission.

She almost fell off when his voice, muffled and echoing, came from the scythe between her legs. She could _hear the teasing grin_ in his voice.

"So... Does this mean I get to share the bed?"


	5. Contrast

**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who has fave'd and followed Staccato! Thanks even MORE to those who have left me reviews! It feels nice to get messages letting me know people have fave'd and followed my story, but it gives me so much inspiration to write when people let me know what they think! So, thanks a ton to my reviewers!

Everyone should go take a look at Lisp's story, Accelerando, another SoMa oneshot collection! I personally love them.

In other news, **feel free to suggest words for my story themes** in reviews! Sometimes my random word generator lets me down and nothing seems too inspiring (my latest one was "butane." That's not what I'm looking for), so I'd love for some help from people who enjoy these oneshots! Note that words that aren't _too_ simple or cliché are more likely to be chosen ("love" or "kiss" would not be too high up on my list, but you could nudge me in the direction of fluffy romance with "lips" or "bite" instead, for example).

This time my oneshot takes a bit of a different turn; it's more of two different oneshots made to each focus on one aspect of Soul.

* * *

**Contrast**

He was not a normal human.

No, Soul "Eater" Evans was far from normal, and it had nothing to do with his startling red eyes that could pierce your soul and hold your gaze; nor did it involve his startlingly white hair, tousled and messy, or his teeth, intimidating and sharp.

Two things set Soul "Eater" Evans apart from the average human. His blood, and his soul.

* * *

"Maka!"

Soul returned to his human shape, dropping to the ground to kneel by his meister. A snarl tore itself up from his chest and out of his throat. That goddamn Kishin was going to pay for hurting Maka, but first he had to keep her safe. "Maka, can you hear me? Wake up, we've got to move you!"

He pressed one hand against the hole in her stomach–_thank god it should have missed any vital organs_–and used his other arm to lift her, balancing her against his hip while he ran. "Hold on, Maka. You are _not_ going to die on me, you hear me?" He growled out his next words, more of a command than a plea. "You will _live_."

The Kishin fell into a smooth stride, following behind Soul. It wasn't quite chasing; it was moreso watching its prey, waiting for it to halt. Waiting for him to leave Maka alone so it could devour her soul.

Soul made a quick turn into a dead-end alley. _At least here I can defend her_, he thought, gently propping her against the back wall. If the Kishin tried to get to her, it would have to get through him.

And he was _really_ hard to get through.

Soul barked out a question sharply, confusing the lone Kishin. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

_"Are we going to have some fun tonight?"_ The little demon rose from his slumber in Soul's bloodstream, a razor sharp grin spreading widely across his face. _"She's hurt? This should be good."_

"Shut up," snarled Soul. "I couldn't protect her, so you're going to help me save her now." Deep in the Black Room in his mind, Soul settled at the polished grand piano. In reality, both of his arms became blades from the elbow down, and blades jutted from his shins. He struck a starting G, a note whose sound resonated with Maka's soul. Maka, who he had to protect. Maka, for whom he would dance with madness.

He grinned, fangs showing. It was time to see if his Death Scythe training with Spirit was paying off.

_The melody started out smooth and quiet._ Soul focused on feeling his meister's wavelength, quiet as it was. _It then sprung into a crescendo, louder and stronger, until he sped up the music._ He suddenly lunged forward, surging towards the Kishin, arms held back. _This was for his meister; he mashed the keys of the beautiful piano, making it scream. He laughed at the strained cacophony. Chaos was beautiful._ Before the Kishin could react, Soul was below it, slashing upwards with his right arm. It connected, piercing flesh.

When the creature tried to sweep its leg underneath Soul to knock him off balance, he simply cackled and kicked back, meeting the Kishin's leg with the blade protruding from his shin. The Kishin screamed, high-pitched and animalistic.

_"Good, good. Listen to your music. Isn't it _wonderful_?"_ Soul couldn't help but agree as he took another stab at the Kishin. The red flowing from the Kishin was such a _beautiful_ shade, it fit in so _perfectly _with his harsh melody.

"Soul?"

Mid-stab, Soul froze. _His fingers twitched to a stop above the keys, and for the first time he noticed the deep black liquid pooling around his ankles_.

Parrying a blow from the Kishin and flipping backwards to land next to his meister, Soul looked only at the ground.

"Were you using it?" He could only nod and grunt out "_had to."_

She took his hand and extended her soul to him. She could _feel_ the madness within him, pulsing through his veins with every heartbeat. "Let me use it too." His head snapped up, and before he could protest she continued. "Just enough to close my wound. Then we can fight, and it will be over."

His willingness to transform and resonate with her was enough of an answer for Maka. If it involved her safety, she knew Soul would obey. Maka shuddered as she felt the _darkness_, the _madness_ pump through her veins. Even then, though, the aching burn in her abdomen began to fade. With a sharp giggle, she jerked her head down to examine herself. "Black... My blood is black!" she cackled in amusement at her oddly colored closing wound.

_"Hey, Maka. Get it together!"_ Soul tried his hardest to strengthen her natural wavelength, amplifying it and sending it back to her. _"We have a job to do! You need to move, idiot!"_

With a jolt, Maka was back.

His blood may be cursed, and he may harbor a demon, but her soul was pure. Maybe that's what he loved about her; maybe that's why he couldn't leave her side.

* * *

Outside of Death City, being a weapon was not seen as a desirable trait. On the contrary, it was often thought of as a curse.

Soul learned this the hard way on a mission to a southeastern state.

"Monster!"

The voice was shrill and terrified. A middle aged woman pointed at Soul, mouth agape, as he held up one arm, transformed into a blade, to dissuade a man who had been following them, probably eyeing Maka's purse.

"He's one of _them_!"

Soul and Maka exchanged a quick startled glance, a pain in Soul's eyes, before she held out her hand for his. Their souls were so deeply connected that she didn't have to give him the command; he took her hand and transformed, his body melting into a scythe. His blade shortened, and their resonance, their connection, formed wings.

The screams from the street faded only with distance; they continued long after the pair flew into the sky.

They flew in silence until they reached their hotel. Maka landed behind the building to keep attention away from them. Soul's eagerness to shed his metal form for one of flesh was almost palpable, and they had barely touched down when he transformed back to human in a flash of light.

"Soul..."

"We're not talking about it."

The elevator ride up to their room was strained with silence so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Soul's wavelength was short and tense with pain and anger. Maka nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other; she wanted to break the silence, to comfort him, but knew he would only clam up more if she pushed him.

The silence lasted hours. Soul lay facedown on their bed, completely still. Maka sat in an armchair across the room reading, but every few minutes she glanced up at her partner to check for any change.

"Is it that weird?"

Soul's sudden choice to speak startled Maka, and she looked up to find him on his side, looking at her. "I'm not a normal human. My soul is different from theirs, from even yours. I can turn into a scythe. Does that really make me a monster?"

Maka set down her book and moved to sit on the bed next to her weapon. He did not protest when she threaded her fingers through his hair and let the strands run over her fingers. He had already left behind his "cool" pretense; he had reached out for comfort from his meister, and he was not about to turn it away.

The pair stayed like that, quiet and just existing together, until Maka had sorted out a reply.

Her fingers stilled, a gentle pressure against his scalp. "Your soul is beautiful. It's so strong, and a lot of the time I wish I could be more like you. You're laid back, you're able to take anything in stride. You may _seem_ apathetic to people, but you're so dedicated to what you care about. I'm jealous of you. I'm so _transparent_ compared to you." Maka began to stroke Soul's hair again, sensing his wavelength. It remained tense, but she pressed on. "Being a weapon isn't anything to be ashamed of. I may be a regular human, but I'm part of your world too. Those people out there don't know what it's like – they don't know the terror of looking death in the eye, the pain that comes when we fail, or the wonder that is resonating with your partner.

"But, I don't blame them. It's just not something they live with. Outside of Death City and other capitals, weapons aren't too common. That's in part because you guys are drawn to Shibusen, somewhere that your _talents_," she stressed the word, "are appreciated. The rest is just because being a weapon is genetic. Death City and other major cities in the world are where Kishin outbreaks are the most common, so weapons flock there. They don't often live in far out cities like this.

"It's wrong of them to judge you like that. You are not a monster; you are a wonderful person, Soul, and you are my partner, my best friend, my everything." She smiled down at him, letting her fingers trace his jaw line. His eyes were closed, but Maka knew he was listening by the slight twitch of his lips and the gentle sigh of contentment that passed through his lips. "You told me this before, so you should know: It's not the shape of the body that matters, it's the soul. Just because your soul lets your body change shape, that doesn't mean that your soul is messed up."

A comfortable silence enveloped the weapon and meister pair. Soul knew he didn't need to respond. As the night grew later, Maka shifted so that she could lay down and sleep. Somehow their hands ended up tangled together, and Soul pulled her close.

For those few hours, cloaked in darkness, he was not a weapon. He was not a Death Scythe, and he was not a madman. He was a boy, young and afraid, and she was his partner, his best friend, his safe harbor in unsure times.

She was _his_ everything, too.


	6. Nibling

**A/N:** Thanks so much to all of you who have suggested themes for my stories! There are a _bunch_ that I'm anxious to use now, so don't worry if yours isn't used right away; chances are that it's somewhere on my list, I just have to get to it! Keep them coming!

And once again, thanks to everyone who is reviewing! It gives me so much inspiration to keep writing these!

* * *

**Nibling**

Soul stared at the piece of creased paper in his hands, glancing apathetically over the text. Was the letter _perfumed_? He snorted. Leave it to Wes to go all out with fancy embellishments to _every-fucking-thing_. He always had been the perfect overachiever. Soul stuffed the letter into his pocket with a scowl. He was 19. That made Wes, what, 25? _And here he was thinking that _Wes_ was the responsible one_.

Not to say that he did not respect his older sibling, new information aside. While Soul was incredibly jealous of his older brother, he also cared deeply for Wes. Wes had been the one to support Soul's music, not his family; Wes had been who he could go to when Soul discovered he carried the weapon gene; Wes understood that Soul loved him, but he could not stand to be around him because of how the rest of the Evans family was, because of how much they praised Wes's _perfection_.

With a huff, Soul shuffled toward Maka's room, thoughts preoccupied by the contents of the letter. He stood outside of her room for a moment, listening for any movement (an impending Maka Chop for invading her privacy, perhaps). When he heard nothing, Soul pushed the door open and peeked inside. His meister was asleep, a book splayed open across her chest.

He chuckled, a slight smirk dancing across his lips. Gingerly Soul slipped the book from her fingers, making sure to mark her page with a bookmark, and set it on her desk. _Losing her page, hah. That would be a crime deserving of a Maka Chop, no doubt about it_. He studied his meister's sleeping form with quiet adoration. She was beautiful while awake, full of passion and energy, but asleep she was absolutely _precious_. Her pink lips were slightly parted–_Soul made a mental note to tease her about being a mouth breather later_–, her hair was tousled, her pigtails lopsided. She was most definitely not graceful in her sleeping form, but Soul found it utterly endearing.

So, it was obvious that he would wake his delicate, sleeping partner by unceremoniously poking her in the cheek.

"Hey. Wake up, stupid. It's still the middle of the day."

Maka's face scrunched up, her nose wrinkling cutely. She grumbled softly at the unwelcome interruption of sleep and swatted at Soul with her eyes half lidded. He easily caught her wrist and smirked. "Gotta do better than that, sweetcheeks. Put some _oomph _into it."

The _oomph_ he requested came to him in the form of the spine of a book from under her pillow meeting his skull with a crack.

While Soul nursed his newly fractured skull, Maka adjusted her position, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. After she cleared her throat to make sure her voice wouldn't crack, she spoke. "What was so pressing that you had to come _into my room_?" she questioned, gently tapping Soul on the head with the same book, moreso to grab his attention than to injure. He hissed in pain when it met his still-tender wound, gently or not.

Soul glowered at his meister, almost pouting. "Well, I _was_ gonna tell you, but _damn_, you're mean and abusive. Maybe I'll jus' keep it to myself–"

One of these days Soul was going to get permanent brain damage from all of these blows to his head.

"_Jesus, _Maka, _fine_," he hissed through gritted teeth. "I jus' wanted to tell you I'm going to be leaving in a week for a few days. You can come too if you want, but...," Soul trailed off, looking away with a grimace. "Maybe it's best if you stay here."

"Where exactly is it you're going?" Maka's eyebrows were furrowed with confusion and frustration. "Shinigami-sama said that you didn't have to pair up with anyone else for missions because of your black blood; it can't be a mission if me coming is _optional_." _God_ her confusion was adorable. Soul had to fight back a smile while he watched her try to puzzle her way around his vague words.

"Wes is having a kid."

_That_ caught her attention.

"Wes? You mean your brother?"

Soul shifted. "Yeah. Apparently he went and knocked up his girlfriend, so they're gonna go ahead and get married. Wedding's next week." He saw Maka's eyes light up at the word _wedding_, and sighed. "I get that girls like crap like weddings, but I _really_ think you should stay. My family's gonna be there and I don't really want to explain our whole situation to them during Wes's wedding." Maka's confused glance urged him to elaborate. Another sigh. "They don't know we're... whatever we are, and I don't think the first time I'd be seeing them since I left for Shibusen, coincidentally also at Wonderboy's wedding, is the right time," muttered Soul, faltering for words to describe him and Maka; _dating_ or _boyfriend and girlfriend _didn't sound right, what with how close the pair were, but there wasn't a word for _combat partner for whom you would give your life in a heartbeat, with whom you also so happen to be in a romantic relationship_.

The creases between Maka's brows grew deeper. "Is there something wrong with me?" She saw Soul's jaw clench, and the pit of her stomach dropped. "Why wouldn't they like me? I'm not exactly what people picture when they imagine someone pretty–" Soul growled, obviously holding a different opinion, "– but I don't think I'm _that_ bad. I know your family is supposed to be fancy, but are they really going to screen me?"

Soul absentmindedly wondered if he should steal some of Maka's conditioner when he patted her soft, still-rumpled hair. "Nah. It has nothing to do with how you look." He shot her a glance, as if asking for her to disagree with him. "There's nothing _for_ them to complain about there, and if they tried anyways, well, I can't be held responsible for my actions." His teeth glinted in the afternoon light as he grinned.

Maka giggled and leaned into Soul's hand. "So, since apparently I'm some beauty, why don't you want me to meet them?"

The grin was wiped right off of Soul's face. "It's stupid. My parents just probably won't approve of you since you're uh... _musically challenged_."

Soul firmly believed that he did not deserve that particular Maka Chop.

For an unknown amount of time–Soul couldn't look for a clock for fear of looking disinterested and being struck dumb again–, Maka huffed about how hard she was trying to learn things about music, and no matter what she did she couldn't understand it past the basic level of putting notes together, and _his family shouldn't judge her, she was trying her best_.

Then, out of nowhere, she had an epiphany. Soul wondered how it took her so long to figure it out, what with how she was a _fucking genius_ and everything.

"You're going to be an _uncle_!"

And _did that mean she was going to be an aunt_?

Soul's blush blazed brightly at the implication his meister had inadvertently made, but he played it cool.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

**A/N:** I meant to _actually_ include Wes in this, but then I ended up loving Soul and Maka interactions _way too much_ again. Augh, I love the way they tease each other and bicker but still stick strong. Soul teasing Maka may be one of my favorite things ever.

Thanks to SpawnOfCthulhu for the suggestion of "nibling"! It's a gender-ambiguous term for a niece or nephew! I have plenty of more suggestions to write for now, but keep them coming in!


	7. Quirk

**A/N:** This chapter's theme is thanks to Professor Maka! I've gotten a lot of great suggestions so far!

Thanks as always to everyone who's reviewing and following my story! I really appreciate your words of encouragement!

* * *

**Quirk**

Maka realized something odd was happening after she started to hear tinklings of music when she was reading in complete silence.

For him, music was natural; no matter what he did, there was some sort of emotion attached, and emotion translated into music. Without ever consciously contributing, Soul was always building and tweaking compositions in his mind, changing life into sounds.

When he would wake up in the mornings, Maka would hear a few chiming notes, often sounding frustrated or dissonant. As he sat in class, staring into space, his mind would run through the same few measures of _something_, a song that Maka could only assume he was composing. When they sat together on the couch and their hands brushed, his mind would sing a few high notes of surprise (and was that a hint of happiness she felt?).

Something was happening along their connection outside of resonance, and Maka really had no reason to complain. Soul's music was nice.

* * *

Soul realized something was a bit off when he was getting _so goddamn irritable_ a few days every month, and when he could not for the life of him figure out why he would _kill_ for a chocolate bar.

When he confronted Maka, chagrin evident on his face (getting sick was _not _cool), about the sharp stomach pains he was feeling, her look of realization and the deep blush on her cheeks only served to frustrate and confuse him. Without a word, she rummaged in the cupboard (they kept something all the way back there?) and shoved something wrapped in crinkly silver into his hands before sprinting to her room.

Chocolate.

Why would Maka have a secret stash of chocolate? Whenever _he_ wanted to get sweets, she would shoot him down, saying that they needed their money for the bills and "real food." Soul snorted. Hah. Hypocrite.

Even so... the chocolate was looking pretty damn tasty. It was pretty cool of Maka to guess that he was craving some. With a shrug, he peeled back the wrapper and began to shuffle his way back to his own bedroom, when a wave of pure _embarrassment_ hit him. What the fuck?

A small growl of frustration and the soft sound of a pillow being struck repeatedly reached Soul.

_Maka_ was embarrassed?

Why?

And why was _he _feeling it?

The stomach pain returned in full force, and Soul heard a whimper.

Oh. _Oh_.

_Maka was on her period, and he was feeling it too_.

Soul returned to the kitchen, shuffling a few things around in the cupboard while searching for his target. He then moved to the bathroom and grabbed something under the sink. Items in tow, he made his way to Maka's doorway and threw a handful of chocolate bars and a heat pack in the general direction of his partner's bed.

A meek flash of appreciation thrummed across the strange new connection as he wandered back to his room.

It quickly turned into anger and embarrassment when Soul shouted across the apartment, "And take some fucking Midol or something! Jesus, this shit _hurts_! Keep your lady business to yourself!"

He suddenly had an eerie desire to smash the spine of a book into his skull.

* * *

**A/N: **I love the idea of Soul and Maka being close enough to constantly be in a low-functioning state of resonance. I probably will be revisiting this idea a lot; it seems pretty natural, and I think it would go nicely with a romantic prompt too. _Wink wink_.


	8. Stare

**Stare**

The demon's gaze was constant. Even when he had abandoned the Black Room hours before, he could still feel the little bastard's eyes boring into his soul. Somehow it felt like the demon was waiting for a chance, waiting for Soul to let his guard down.

It was pissing him off.

The only time he could get a break was with Maka. Then the demon would sigh, glare at Soul, and drag his knuckles across the tiles of the Black Room until he slammed the door, lying in wait once again. With Maka the demon was quiet. With Maka the demon wasn't eyeing him every minute.

With Maka he could breathe.

* * *

"Soul, dude, you look like _shit_."

Soul snarled back, "Fuck off, Black Star." Whatever patience he usually had for his friend was nonexistent; the demon, damned little ogre, black blooded imp, was _giggling_ and nibbling on its fingernails as tacky jazz hummed in the background. It was happy; the night before it had gotten to _play_, sneaking its way into Soul's mind while he and Maka resonated. A basic mission had almost gone wrong when he had to break their resonance mid-slash, turning a Witch Hunter into a simple scythe move.

The demon was always watching for a chance to take over.

Black Star scowled. "What climbed up your ass and died, Soul? You shouldn't address your _god_ like that." The assassin's eyes widened momentarily with realization, and he leaned in. "Or maybe... is Maka _holding out on you_? Dude, once Tsubaki was pissed at me for some stupid crap, and she held out on me for a whole _week_ before I could get back into her pa–"

Soul stood up abruptly. His eyes were dull, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. "Shut up, dude. Nobody wants to hear that. And it's not like that with us."

Black Star frowned as his friend walked away without another word.

The demon cackled and ran its nails along the grand piano, leaving smoldering gashes behind.

* * *

Soul dreamed of death and madness.

He knew it was a dream. He knew Maka was in her room, fine, asleep, happy, _safe_.

It didn't make watching her body contort, her lips part in a wicked grin, her eyes flash with insanity any easier. It didn't make watching himself fail her any easier.

He could feel her fingers tight around his metal shaft, but her hands did not move with grace. She did not twirl him around and bring him down decisively. They did not work as one. They resonated, but only so that he did not lose his grip on her. If he lost that last hold on her soul, they would both drown.

There would be nothing but blackness.

That was what scared Soul the most.

If the light of her soul disappeared, what could he hold on to? Certainly not his family. His friends, sure, he cared about them, but he couldn't _exist_ for them. Slaying Kishin eggs? _Please_. Maka was who made him go on the missions. Maka was who made him into a Death Scythe.

Maka.

Maka, Maka, _Maka_.

If she disappeared, he would give in, too. And then they'd never stop resonating, amplifying the black blood past any limits, and that _fucking ogre_ would have a field day.

Soul could feel the demon watching, even in his mind as he slept. It knew his thoughts. It knew that he would not let Maka be consumed by the darkness, would not let these visions make him weak or susceptible. He could feel those cunning eyes on him as the blackness of the nightmare faded into nothingness, and the nothingness into... _something_.

The scene shifted. No longer was Maka consumed by the black blood that propagated through their resonance. No, now she simply looked shocked, staring at him with a look of betrayal and sadness.

_Stop looking at me like that. What are you looking at me like that for?_

"So... ul..." Her voice was choked, gurgling. A hiccup formed in her throat, hitching her breath, and when she coughed, a trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

With a lurch in his stomach, he looked down.

A red and black blade protruded from her stomach. _His_ blade.

His screams drowned out the demon's cackling and the scratchy old jazz.

* * *

Maka _knew_ she should've forgone that late-night drink and just gone to sleep.

With a sigh, she drug herself out of bed and slid her feet into slippers; the bathroom tile was cold, and she had made the mistake of stepping on it without slippers a few nights ago. Her feet had been cold for _hours_. Maka shuffled out her door.

She ended up flat on her face when she tripped over blankets strewn in front of her room.

Blankets... and her _partner_.

Said partner sat up with a jolt, forearm glinting in the moonlight in a defensive reflex. Maka's loud and pained _swearing_ tipped him off to his mistake.

"_Shit_. Maka, I'm so sorry–"

Her voice was scathing, and he could _hear_ her glaring at him in the darkness. "Why, pray tell, are you sleeping _outside my door_?"

They both heard a soft pattering of paws moving away quickly; Blair had been asleep on top of Soul, but she had no intentions of sticking around for _this_.

The silence was heavy. Soul shifted uncomfortably, trying to come up with an acceptable excuse for his odd actions. Maka still was seething, but she had bigger problems to deal with than her weapon's odd choices of where to sleep. She sighed.

"You'd better have a good reason by the time I'm back from the bathroom."

Shit.

Soul groaned and rested his head in his hands. He had set an alarm for five minutes before Maka usually woke up so that he could sneak back to his room quietly. _Unnoticed_. He hadn't planned for middle-of-the-night bathroom trips.

When his meister returned, she pushed him to the side and got under the blankets with him. "It's cold out there, and you're keeping me from my bed until you explain," she reasoned. Soul fought to keep his breathing even, and he praised the darkness for concealing his blush at their compromising position.

"Well?"

There was no getting out of this one.

"I was gonna move before you woke up in the morning. I just... needed to be close to you." Soul gritted his teeth and drew in a breath. "He's quiet when you're close by."

Maka loosely grasped his shirt. "The demon?"

"Yeah."

Her fingers tightened. "You should have told me. I knew something was wrong; Black Star told me that you snapped at him, and you look so tired. I would've done something to help. I wouldn't have pushed us resonating. I would've... done something."

He could hear how helpless she felt, how useless she believed herself to be.

_Stupid._

"Don't need any of that," he mumbled, pulling her against his chest. "Just need you nearby to make 'im shut up for a while," he breathed. His eyelids were heavy; he could not hear jazz, and he could not feel the demon's gaze. Soul inhaled, and a faint fruity smell wafted off of Maka's hair. It was so peaceful here.

"You're warm." Soul chuckled; Maka's voice was thick with sleep. "Come stay in my room tonight." Without waiting for an answer, Maka stood and tugged on Soul's shirt, trying to pull him along. And Soul could not deny his meister.

She was a cover hog and he took up too much space, but it was quiet in Soul's mind. Peaceful.

They fell asleep with his lips pressed into her hair and her head tucked against his neck.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to Lisp for this prompt! I played with the idea of making it another super fluffy oneshot, but I like the darker parts of Soul a lot.

As always, thanks to everyone who has left me reviews! It makes me so very happy. I also have a standalone oneshot up, called "Push."


	9. Obsequious

**Obsequious**

At some point a few years into her partnership with Soul, Maka realized that she did not just have a weapon: she practically had a _dog_.

He was loyal to a fault; when they first faced Crona, he had thrown himself in front of her without hesitation, taking an almost-fatal blow from the demon sword. He took on the burden of the black blood and never complained, because giving in to it or running away from it would both compromise their partnership; the only option he was was to bear it. And he would follow her into even the _stupidest_ battles where the odds were stacked against them, simply because she would go with or without him, so it may as well be with him.

He was easily distracted from things that _needed _to be done (namely chores and homework) in favor of instant gratification in the form of video games, rides on his motorcycle, or naps. And heavens forbid _food_ came into the equation; Maka was certain that her partner would drop almost anything for a meal (or two, _or three_).

He was protective of her; _nobody_ got to touch _his_ meister. It seemed to Maka as if defending her from male attention at Shibusen was as important, if not moreso, to him as keeping her safe from Kishin during battles. Once, someone managed to approach her to ask for a date without Soul nearby. She turned him down, of course, but the next day the same guy _apologized_ to her and ran off. Maka suspected that Black Star had blabbed to Soul, and her ever-loyal dog had a nice, _civil_ conversation with the poor boy. When she confronted him, wondering why he drove off all the guys who "thought she was pretty," Soul walked off and called over his shoulder something about making sure "some idiot who thinks with the wrong brain" didn't hurt his meister.

His bark was worse than his bite. Well, _metaphorically_. Maka believed that just about anyone would rather hear Soul's wrath than feel those teeth, but her point remained; Soul liked to act tougher than he was. She _heard_ his screams at night when the nightmares came. She felt his terror, his overwhelming fear and sadness and _pain _over their link. She said nothing, just extended her wavelength to touch his. Come morning, it was as if nothing happened. Soul, have nightmares? _As if; cool guys don't have bad dreams_. Nobody but Maka saw his weakness. Nobody else knew he was bluffing.

But more than anything, and possibly _worst_ of all his dog-like traits, was his _shedding_.

Maka groaned as she ran the lint roller along their couch, picking up long white hairs everywhere. Even on the off chance that Soul would pick up after himself or follow through on his job to clean the dishes, there was no stopping the snowstorm of white hairs that followed him, falling particularly plentifully whenever he scratched at his head (which was often).

At least a dog would shed _controllably_ if she brushed it––

_Ooooh_.

So, when Soul emerged from his room, shuffling towards the fridge with a yawn, Maka sprung into action. With a yelp and many obscenities flying from her partner's mouth, she cheerfully dragged her weapon to the couch and ran a comb through his hair.

"The _fuck_ are you doing?" growled Soul, trying to swat her hands away. "Leave my hair alone! Hey, are you _listening_ to me? Maka!"

"You're like a shiba inu," muttered Maka, using her legs to hold Soul's body still. "You're like the cat of dogs. You get all your doggy traits, but you are such a _prima donna_. _And_ you shed extra."

"I'm a _what_ now?" Soul's indignation was evident in his voice, but he sighed and settled into the couch; obviously Maka had _some _sort of issue with his hair, and she wouldn't relax until it was taken care of. "The fuck is wrong with you that you're starting to compare me to different breeds of dogs? Did Blair slip you something?"

She snorted and tugged the comb through a particularly stubborn knot, making Soul yelp. "No. I was just thinking about your character traits. And cleaning up all your hair."

He could see where this was going.

"So, what, my hair is loose in my skull and I like to protect my meister, so I'm a dog? _Woof_."

Maka couldn't help but giggle. She ran her fingers through his hair, satisfied that he wouldn't be shedding any more tonight. "Good boy."

He turned his head to look up at her, garnet eyes leering and teeth glinting with his grin. "Does that mean I get a treat now?"

* * *

**A/N: **Well _that_ almost turned into fluff at the end.

Soul is so very dog-like, but in a good way!

Thanks to Professor Maka for the prompt! The word "obsequious" makes me think of dogs, who can be ridiculously loyal, and Soul is such a _good boy_. Hehe.

Thanks, as always, to everyone who leaves me reviews (and new prompts)! It really inspires me to write these when I know people are waiting to read them!


	10. Persuasion

**Persuasion**

People were all the same.

They all ran away in the end. His music, his appearance, his newfound weapon gene: they all scared off anyone who came near. Take your pick of what bothered you; _something_ would, and then he would be left alone.

Fuck them, they weren't worth his time.

Soul kicked the tile floor as he shuffled along Shibusen's hallways. It was going to be the same here as it was at home; two hours had passed and nobody had approached him to become his meister. He would fail at becoming a strong weapon, just as he failed at music, at family, at _giving a damn_.

He wandered through the area of the school that was open to new students. Supposedly most of the academy was closed off so that they did not get lost. He absentmindedly wondered how large the school really was as he walked farther away from the other first-years. They were supposed to chat around, find someone they got along with, and create a partnership.

Load of bullshit, that was.

A large, black door stood in front of him. The words "Music Room" were etched on a plaque nearby. How far had he wandered? He looked back. Nobody. _Of course_. Most people had probably paired off by now; there was no reason for anyone to have followed him this far away from the main event. With a grin and a barking laugh, he pushed open the door.

A baby grand sat in the center of the room, just waiting for him.

It sickened him, so he just _had _to play.

His fingers effortlessly plinked out piece after piece, compositions that had been drilled into his memory with years of practice. Boring, uncool. Complete garbage. Where was the _emotion_?

He began to let his fingers stray where they may. Fuck the rules. Fuck the norm. Fuck his family, fuck his perfect brother, fuck how nobody understood him, fuck this _stupid_ school, and fuck all those people who didn't want to be his partner. Fuck how this school was his only chance at escape, and fuck how he was botching it, too.

That's when she arrived.

He knew she was there. He'd seen her around earlier; scrawny, straw-colored hair. Pulled up into pigtails; how childish. Uncool. Pretty eyes, though. Green was a nice color.

Without missing a beat, he poured his pain, his frustration, his anger at the world into those ivory keys. He snarled out, "This is who I am," and allowed his soul's melody to fill the room. Dark. Twisted. Angry. Misunderstood. Lonely. It all flowed together. He could feel her eyes on him. Scared, probably.

The piece ended.

She clapped, and a strange mix of confusion, fear, and excitement thrilled through his veins.

He eyed her warily. "Not running?"

She wondered out loud why she would run; his music was pretty, wow, he was so talented! It was so _cool_!

That same feeling flashed through him again. Different. She was different somehow. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't running, she wasn't making weak excuses for why she needed to be somewhere else _now_, and she wasn't just complimenting his playing because it was polite. Genuine. That was the word. She was genuine.

His eyes ran her over once more. Yeah, still scrawny. Flat as a board. No curves, childish hairstyle, could probably pass for a boy if she cut her hair and wore pants. But still... there was something.

Garnet and emerald met.

"You a meister?"

"Yeah. I'm looking for a scythe, though. My mama was a scythe-wielding meister, and I'm going to be one too. I'm going to make the best Death Scythe ever." He liked that. She had a plan. He had none, he'd need someone with a plan. "I was hoping to find a girl for a partner, but..."

He flashed his teeth in a grin. So that's what would drive her away. She probably had daddy issues or something. He'd give her one last chance to run. "I just happen to be a scythe." Her eyes widened. "Not a girl, though." Maybe this girl, this tiny excuse for a girl, would be his ticket into this world. If she didn't run.

Her face lit up in a grin, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. "You're a scythe? Really?" She closed the gap between them in a few strides and stuck out her hand. "I'm Maka. Maka Albarn." He eyed her hand coolly, but she left it extended. "Would you like to be my partner?"

When he laughed, her eyebrows furrowed. Showing off his teeth once again, he grabbed her hand and grasped it firmly. "Sure, I guess that's cool. I'm Soul Eater."

Something made his fingertips tingle as they met with her hand.

She would pull him out of that world. He could feel it. This odd, tiny girl would save him.

* * *

**A/N:** It's probably hard to imagine how I got "persuasion" to bring me to this. It turned out a bit differently than I intended, but it just started flowing in this direction. I may at some point do a companion oneshot to this for Maka's point of view. Maybe then my reasoning would make more sense. I was aiming for showing how each of them coaxed the other into a new mindset and a new world.

As always, thanks to everyone for reviewing! It gives me inspiration to keep writing!


	11. Billet-Doux

**A/N:** Once again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! It gives me the warm fuzzies whenever I open up my email and see a review alert!

This time the theme is "billet-doux," which means love letter. Originally I wanted to have Soul writing long distance letters to Maka while on Death Scythe missions, but he's really not the love letter type, is he?

Enjoy!

* * *

**Billet-doux**

It began when their nighttime schedules stopped overlapping as much.

Soul started to have to go to Death Scythe meetings a few times a week. Maka was called upon to supervise the first few missions of students in the NOT class. Blair worked overtime to add more to her cream and lingerie funds.

It was rather rare for the apartment to have more than one inhabitant from the afternoon until far past midnight.

Sometimes Maka would fall asleep on the couch waiting for Soul to return. He would gently nudge her and lead her to her bed whenever he got home, unlocking the door as quietly as he could. Some nights she would grab on to his shirt and pull him into bed with her, reluctant to lose out on limited time with her partner. Some nights he would retire to his own room, and they both craved that contact.

When it was her turn to be out late, Soul would not wait out on the couch. He would fix her portion of dinner and set it on the counter, ready for her to heat up, because frugal Maka would not splurge on takeout or other late night dining options. He would grab a Post-It from their stash and stick it against the tupperware, giving her heating instructions and sometimes a few tidbits about his day. Then he would go to bed, knowing his meister would need all the rest she could get; staying up to talk would just make her day tomorrow harder.

* * *

Maka stumbled into the apartment, eyelids heavy. She squinted, trying to make out the shapes of the room in the dark. In the kitchen, she flicked on the light and leaned against the counter with a sigh. Without a weapon of her own, watching over the newbies in the NOT class was a pain. The bandages wrapped tightly around her torso were proof of it. Perhaps she should speak to Kid and ask if she could take Soul along one night.

Maka's eyes wandered towards Soul's bedroom door. In the silence of the night, she could faintly hear gentle snoring coming from his room. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. At least one of them would sleep calmly.

She reached for the tupperware on the counter, a sweet gesture from her weapon. Lasagna; good, there should be leftovers in the fridge. She slid her dinner into the microwave and pressed _start_. Two white pills and a glass of water remained on the counter. With a sigh, Maka popped the pills into her mouth, washed them down, and moved to sit on the couch while her food heated. She brought the Post-It with her.

_I left the right heating time on the microwave, just hit start. There are some painkillers there too, but you know I hope you don't need them. It's stupid, sending you to supervise missions without a weapon. Dangerous. I wish I could go with you._

Maka left her dirty dishes in the sink after eating. Exhaustion seemed to have sunk into her bones while she sat. Her bed was soft and welcoming.

The painkillers dulled the throbbing in her side.

* * *

_I ordered pizza; check the fridge. Sorry I didn't ask first, but I've put in a request with Kid that I can go with you next time. We haven't fought together in weeks. I'll kill you if you tell anyone else this, but I really miss you. It's been what, three days since I've actually seen you? Sucks. Blair is getting annoying._

_ As always, painkillers are there if you need them._

She smiled. That was Soul, all right. Nothing was more important than maintaining his cool and aloof image. But, she mused, she got to see past that image. Of course, Soul _was_ detached, and he was definitely cool, but his personality went deeper. Maka knew that he craved acceptance, that he was incredibly loyal, and that more than anything he desired a real family.

Their family was strange and makeshift, but it filled that void nicely.

At least the note had explained one mystery of the day. Earlier, Kid had fought back laughter when she requested weapon backup on her next supervising mission. Offhandedly she had suggested that, well, maybe a _scythe_ would be appropriate, since it was her specialty. The young reaper's eyes had shone with mirth at the request, and Maka left confused as to if she would be getting a weapon or not.

Maka read over the note again as she heated the pizza. Soul's confession of _missing_ her made her stomach flutter and a gentle heat burn on her cheeks, so she stole over to his bedroom and whispered into the ajar doorway, "_I miss you, too._"

* * *

"Hey, I'm home–"

The living room was still and empty.

Soul was not used to the couch being void of one sleeping Maka when he returned at night. His brow furrowed, and he kicked off his shoes. Had she gone to sleep already? He couldn't blame her; three in the morning was later than usual for his return, and without a doubt she would be busy again the next day. The kitchen, however, was lit, and a bowl sat on the counter.

_I'm sorry I couldn't stay up to see you. I tried. If you're still hungry, here's some chowder; hopefully Blair hasn't gotten into it by the time you're home._

_ My door is open._

Soul bypassed the chowder, hungry as he was, and made a beeline for his meister's bedroom. Her door was indeed open; he could faintly see the shape of her hair fanned out across her pillows. Her breathing was soft and even, but still he ran his fingers across her cheeks.

Green eyes opened, fluttering hazily in the dark. He smiled when their eyes met, and she could not help but smile back.

Space was made when she shifted, and she pulled him down into a tight hug.

"Missed you," Maka sighed, voice rough with sleep.

"Me too," Soul replied, nuzzling against her skin, holding her tight against his body.

When their lips met, it was easy and simple, almost like a greeting. _Hi, how have you been, that's good, nice weather._ Then the greeting became an _I missed you_, a little more tense, and then _please don't leave me alone again_, all heat and want and passion.

They parted, and it was as if the kiss never happened. They were strangers, passing each other by on the street. Strangers who mutually wanted _so badly_ to whisper greetings again, but now was not the time.

* * *

Out of the blue, the notes began to appear in places other than next to late-night dinner offerings. Maka's dresser, her desk, the bathroom mirror; all were adorned with bright squares of paper at one point or another.

_Don't forget your notebook on the couch, _reminded the note on her desk.

_Tomorrow's our mission together_, read the one on the mirror. _I'm excited. You'd better be ready; it's gonna be ultra cool to fight together again._ He had even doodled a grinning face into the corner. That was a nice touch.

Her dresser's note read, _I really miss seeing you_. That one set butterflies free in Maka's stomach. No flavor text, no other reminders. Just a small confession. The note found itself stored within the pages of a book, pressed tight to stay safe.

* * *

They met outside. He was already waiting on his motorcycle, so Maka swung her leg over, gripped his waist, and they were off. Her lips faintly pressed into the back of his jacket. This was normal. This was how it should be.

The mission they supervised was simple. Maka stood idly by, gripping Soul's scythe form by the shaft, while a young boy threw himself at the Kishin egg time after time, attempting to bludgeon it with a mace. Only once did she have to intervene; the boy's attack patterns were predictable, and the Kishin egg parried unexpectedly. Maka deflected a blow as the student adjusted his position, then was back on the sidelines.

Success.

The mace turned out to be a quiet looking girl with short blonde hair and meek posture. She insisted on shooing away the older pair before downing the remaining soul; she claimed it was embarrassing to have people watch her eat.

Soul loudly voiced his opinion on _that_ as they walked back to his motorcycle.

* * *

_I love you, Maka._

Three words on a neon yellow square of paper turned her world topsy-turvy.

Maka's first instinct was to panic. They had danced around their feelings for each other for so long. Their recent separation had given them an excuse to get closer, to touch, to test the boundaries of their partnership. But now they were working together again. Kid had allowed them to pair up whenever Maka was sent out to supervise; Soul's Death Scythe training was put on hold thanks to their requests. There still were nights where they did not see each other, of course, and the tension would crop up again, but they no longer could potentially be apart for over a week.

They knew there was _something_ between them. It was simply taking that step forward that was a problem.

Maka was torn between her distaste for men and her trust in Soul; her instincts screamed that all men were like her papa, cheating liars, worthless scum who wanted nothing but an easy lay. But on the other hand, Soul was _Soul_. Rude and selfish as he may be, Maka was not blind. Her partner was willing to put everything on the line for her, and he made a point to prove that. He made sure Maka saw him dump all of the partnership requests and love letters that he received, and he made sure that she understood the implications of those actions. He would offhandedly say, "Yeah, they aren't worth my time," but he would hold her gaze, silently telling her that _she_ was.

But this letter... This note was not an implication, not a silent hint, not a quick lingering gaze that passed between them. It was straightforward and left no room to the imagination.

_I love you, Maka_.

With just that, he crossed their line. Blurred it, smudged it away without hesitation. What a very _Soul_ thing to do. Maka vaguely felt like she imagined Crona did when that line in the sand was erased. What was she supposed to do? Run? Yes, running sounded like a good idea. But in which direction? One would take her far, far away from Soul. Far from partnerships, far from mesmerizing red eyes, far from confusing scythes whose presence (or lack thereof) wreaked havoc on her emotions.

The other would throw her directly into him, and she knew that he would not let her go. He was not her papa. He was not one of those men who was simply superficial; she was not exactly a catch, after all. Maka was violent, short-tempered, stubborn, and flat as a board... and yet he stayed by her side, waiting for her to take that step forward. No, Soul would not leave her. Soul would not give her a reason to go.

But which direction should she take?

Fear gripped Maka, and her heart pounded. It was fast. Too fast. Did she have to decide now? What if she didn't have an answer? She wanted Soul, yes. That was true. She knew that to be true. But was she ready? Was she prepared to take that step?

He was home. He was asleep in his room, she could feel the quiet, even humming of his soul. He was not waiting for her to make a decision. He was not worrying over her answer.

How very _Soul_ of him.

It could wait. Maka did not have an answer. She did not know what would be the catalyst, what would push her in either direction, but it had not arrived yet. So, she let her feet carry her to her door.

Another neon square of paper waited for her at eye-level.

_You don't have to decide right now. I just thought you should know. Keeping that secret isn't cool._

Warmth flared through her chest. Tears pricked at her eyes. Of _course_ Soul would realize that she would be conflicted. That was the whole reason that they had avoided truly taking that step forward up until this point. She was damaged goods. And he would never push her.

Ironically, that was the push she needed.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the windows in Soul and Maka's apartment. Maka was long gone; she had been called in to explain Soul Perception to the NOT class, and she wanted to prepare a presentation beforehand. Soul took his time getting ready for his day; he would see Maka in class, but that was in a few hours. He could get ready at his own pace.

During that time, he mulled over his choices the previous night. There was no way that Maka didn't see his notes. If she went directly to bed, she would see the note on her door, which would lead her back to the kitchen. There was no way she did not see them.

And he had not been Maka Chopped.

Soul supposed it was a good sign that she had not resorted to immediate violence. If his skull was not dented, she was okay. Then again, she hadn't responded _at all_.

He stood from his bed, kicking his sheets to the floor. Worrying about it wasn't cool. Confessing probably wasn't cool either, but doing it indirectly was less uncool. Either way, they needed to move forward. Soul could feel the tension between them changing when they were kept apart; he could feel her desire to be with him, but she would not take that step.

So he took it for her.

"Well, whatever."

The bathroom tile was cold against his bare feet. When he stepped in front of the mirror, something obstructed his view.

A small, neon pink square was stuck to the glass.

His heart stuttered and his breath hitched.

And then he could not stop grinning.

_Me too._

Cool.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not dead! Lisp pointed out to me that it's been about a billion years in my time since I've updated! Sorry, guys, I've been rather busy. I had three exams last week, and later this week I have a six page essay due! That said, I have not died, and I still plan on churning out more of these!

Thanks to everyone for their support!


	12. Children

**A/N:** Augh this chapter is just word-vomit about an adorable prompt and holy crap I love the idea of this but I have zero idea what I'm doing so yeah word vomit.

Lisp and I have been mulling (well, more like caps-lock squealing) over the idea of Soul and Black*Star raising kids. You know, the perils of nighttime screaming and diapers and all that jazz. Then, BAM, Sharkarella gives me the prompt "children/kids." It is fate.

So, this chapter is for Lisp! It also will probably have a part two sometime later on.

* * *

**Children**

He couldn't breathe.

He could barely open his _eyes_, for fuck's sake.

A decidedly _uncool_ whimper slipped past Soul's clenched teeth. God, it was just _rank. _The air was thick with a stinging stench that burned his nose and eyes.

Cool guys did _not_ have to change diapers. But where was Soul? _Changing a fucking diaper._ Figures.

Soul looked down to the writhing bundle of _stinky filth_ on the table below him. The kid was cute. He was still wrinkly and pink and _screaming_ (and also smelly), too young to really fit the "cute baby" archetype, but he had little wisps of ash blonde hair that were silky soft and sparkling green eyes that looked a little too smart for belonging to a baby. He was definitely Maka's kid. Soul was secretly relieved that the kid had not inherited his (luckily recessive) white hair or red eyes; they weren't exactly good for fitting in, and Soul had tolerated enough _crap_ for it for the both of them.

But the problem now was not genetics.

Oh, no. Not something as _simple_ and _easy_ as genetics and pondering why babies were cute.

No. Soul had to change a motherfucking diaper. And he had no idea what to do. If _cool_ guys, manly men, cried, Soul would be bawling his eyes out.

"Shit," he mumbled, and held his little bundle of hellspawn still. Where was the diaper bag? What did he do once he had the diaper bag? _Where the hell was Maka_? Why was being a dad so fucking difficult? His eyes shone in panic. Their kid was only a few weeks old, so Soul had not yet been exposed to diaper changing. He groaned. Why hadn't he asked Maka to teach him? It's not like he thought he'd be diaper-duty-free or anything...

And then suddenly, an idea came to Soul.

"Stay, _still_, you hear me?" mumbled Soul, his bottom lip gingerly held between his teeth. Amazingly, his child complied, laying still. "I just need a minute..."

Cell phone in hand, Soul paced beside the table. A quick speed-dial later and it was ringing. "Come _on,_ dammit, pick up."

"_Your god speaking! Calling to hear my wonderful voice? I don't blame you, the great Black*Star is the bes-_"

"Black*Star! Oh, thank god." Soul breathed a sigh of relief, even though his friend was swinging full force with his eccentricity today. "I need your help, dude."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "_You... What? My help? You want my– I mean, of _course_ you need my help, puny mortal! What can I do for you, dude? For, as you know, I can do anything!_" It took all of Soul's willpower to not hang up on the egotistical meister.

He clenched his teeth and spoke. "How do you change a diaper?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone line for a good fifteen seconds before Black*Star responded.

"_I'll be right over, dude._"

* * *

**A/N: **There will eventually be a part two to this... I think. I've been rather busy with assignments lately, sorry everyone!


	13. Secrets

**A/N:** _This chapter was a collective challenge from CrazyCreator33 and Lisp! It was a cute prompt, so I had to give it a shot! I hope you guys enjoy! It turned out a bit drabble-y, but I did my best with my limited knowledge of the topic!_

_As to not really give away the chapter, I've changed the prompt word to "secrets"!_

_As always, let me know what you think in a review!_

* * *

**Secrets**

Soul began to suspect something was off with Maka when he caught her dancing in the kitchen.

There was no music playing. Nobody else was around, and Soul had just woken up from a pre-dinner nap, so obviously Maka wasn't expecting for anyone to catch her. Her dance was entirely based on something playing in her head, and Soul's curiosity was piqued. However, letting his meister know that he had seen her secretly dancing was just inviting a Maka Chop, so he slunk back to his room, careful to make no noise.

There was something suspicious going on. Maka did _not_ dance.

Sometimes he thought that he could hear music coming from Maka's bedroom when he was puttering around the kitchen or lounging in the living room. He had tried on many an occasion to sneak closer, to get a better idea of what _Maka_ of all people would be listening to, but no matter how quiet he was, the sounds would disappear before he could approach. Soul decided that the proper way to describe his feelings on the matter was _fucking frustrating_. He was glad that Maka was taking an interest in music of some sort (although that one period where she listened to nothing but dance techno was still fresh and painful in his mind), but the secrecy was, frankly, offending him.

It occurred to Soul that, maybe, Maka was worried about what his opinion of her musical choices were. The possibility made his brow furrow. If she wanted recommendations of music he enjoyed, he would gladly suggest something from a variety of genres, anything that appealed to her. But if she did not express any interest, he couldn't help. Sure, he might tease her if the songs she liked didn't tickle his fancy, but he earnestly wanted to pick her brain on music.

He would not admit it if anyone asked, but Soul wanted terribly badly to broaden Maka's musical horizons. He wanted to explain to her the nuances of different genres, teach her what made music "good" in his opinion, explore everything that music had to offer. But it wasn't cool to push his interests on her without any sign of interest. Once again, _fucking frustrating_, especially when he _knew_ his meister was listening to music behind his back.

Eventually it progressed to the point where Soul could think of nothing except for what Maka could possibly be listening to. Her fingers tapping out a perky beat during class sent his mind into a frenzy. That little skip in her step as they walked between lecture halls left him reeling. He frantically clung to every note she hummed, running it through his mind's archive of songs over and over to no avail. And the time he opened her door to find her _dancing_ what looked to be a choreographed piece? Well, Soul had to admit that one was funny, and he had almost choked with laughter on the cookie he had been eating, but it was also _infuriating_. What was Maka listening to? What was she hiding? Was it techno again? Was it _dubstep_?

He tried to find her MP3 player. Nothing except what he had put on it. He searched her internet history. Nothing music related (but a few searches on "how to kiss" and "how to confess to a guy" made his blood boil; she was interested in someone?), she must be erasing the history or surfing incognito. He casually asked if she had found any new interests. She shook her head and said nothing else.

_God fucking dammit_.

There was only one choice left, and Soul was loathe to resort to it, but his meister was _listening to music_, and it was killing him not knowing what it was. There was no other option.

* * *

"_Dude, you've _gotta_ hear about this."_

* * *

Maka swung her hips and hummed a tune while folding laundry. Her feet shuffled and hopped along the floor to a cheerful dance she had been practicing. She twirled with a flourish, and came to a stop facing her door as it was violently swung open. Her eyes opened wide as she took in her partner's expression.

Soul was panting, as if he had just run a marathon. He stood hunched over, one hand on a knee, the other on the doorway to support his weight. His expression was an odd mix between shock, confusion, and amusement. One eyebrow was quirked upward, while the other furrowed his brow. His mouth hung open, and Maka could not tell if it was due to exhaustion or some sort of surprise. All the while, his head was lolling to the side as if he was scrutinizing her.

"Y-yes?" stammered Maka. She was unsure of if Soul had seen her dancing or not; last time that had happened, she had to keep him from choking on a cookie. How embarrassing. "Do you need something?"

"You..." Soul took a moment to catch his breath; his voice was rough and hoarse, but his tone was incredulous. "You're listening to _K-Pop_?! _That's_ what you've been hiding? _That's_ what I've been wracking my brains over for weeks?!"

She took a shaky step back. _How?_ There was no evidence! Anywhere! "I... It's not what it looks like!" Was he upset? Did K-Pop offend his delicate sensibilities? "How did you _know_?"

He shot his meister a confused glance, crimson eyes narrowed. "How did I know? So you _were_ taking steps to keep me in the dark!" A look of panic streaked across Maka's face, and her eyes glanced at her laptop. "No, you didn't forget to clear the history." Back to him, then to her bed. "Yes, I know where you keep your iPod. No, you didn't accidentally put anything on it that was to be kept from me."

"Then _how?_"

A smile split open Soul's lips to reveal his teeth. He grinned widely and stepped closer to Maka. She stepped back. "How did I figure it out? It wasn't really something I planned on resorting to," he mused, savoring the power he had over his meister. "I didn't think I'd _have _to. But you made it difficult. You made me bring in _outside help_."

Her eyes widened. "You didn't."

He smirked. "I did."

"You got _Black*Star_ to _spy_ on me?!" she shrieked, and a nearby textbook met Soul's skull with a sharp crack. "Pervert! Idiot! What the hell!" Maka's face did a convincing impersonation of a beet, what with how red it was. "What did you tell him to do? What did he _see_?"

Soul scowled up at Maka from his position on the floor; books to craniums had a tendency to make him lose his balance. "You were keeping _secrets_ from me, Maka," he grumbled. "I jus' told him to figure out what music you were listening to. He thought I was crazy, told me I should just ask you, but you made it so _difficult_." If he were not a proud Death Scythe and a self-proclaimed cool guy, Soul may have been pouting. But cool guys don't pout. Nope. Cool guys sulked. So sulk he did.

For a few minutes it was as if there was a standoff in Maka's bedroom. Soul believed that, while he may have gone overboard, he had the right to know what Maka was hiding from him, especially when it came to music. Maka believed that, while it was silly to hide that she had found music she enjoyed from Soul, she had the right to privacy, especially when she might be teased for what she was hiding.

She gave in first.

Maka sighed and fell backwards onto her bed. "_Fine_. Yes, I'm listening to K-Pop," she mumbled, "and it's _good!_ And it's upbeat, and happy, and–," she mashed a pillow over her face. "–I _like it_, so I just didn't want you telling me that I know nothing about music!" Her voice was muffled through the cotton and down.

Soul picked himself up off of the floor and sat on Maka's bed next to her. He flipped the pillow away ("_Hey!_") and poked his meister's cheek ("_Stop_ it, Soul!"). She glowered up at him and he stared down. The temptation to take advantage of them being in such a prone position was tempting, and both of their cheeks stained pink lightly, but Maka snatched her pillow back, holding it up to her chest so that it covered half of her face, and Soul broke the silence.

"I'm not gonna _tease_ you for liking K-Pop," he said with a slight pout. "It's cool that you're actually listening to music. I dunno if you're understanding it, but enjoying it is a start. I'd like to talk with you about it, show you some stuff I like, and maybe find you some other neat songs."

Maka peered up at her weapon from behind the pillow's fluffy barrier. "Promise you won't tease?"

Soul smiled. She was being cute. His smile was gentle, and he softly ruffled Maka's hair. "Promise, you dork. Now, c'mon, it's almost dinner time. You can show me the songs later, alright?"

Maka's face lit up with a smile, and she sat up. "Sure!" she chirped, and her lips briefly grazed Soul's cheek. Before he could react, she was up and in her doorway. "Come on, it's _your_ turn to cook!"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just order take-out." He hefted himself up off of her bed and followed his meister out of her room.

"Whaaaat? Soul, you're such a lazy bum!" Maka scowled at Soul. "You always want take-out when it's your turn to cook! You're lucky you get to use my school allowance too, or you'd be broke!"

"Oh, hush, at least I don't _dance_ when I cook!"

"You said you wouldn't tease me!" Indignation spread across her face.

"Yeah, about the _music_. What, were you practicing the choreography too? What a dork! Uncool, Maka."

"Idiot!"

"Fuck! _Ow!_ Why the hell do you leave books _everywhere?_"

"Because you're an idiot!"

"I'm not the one googling _how to kiss_!"

"_Stop looking through my computer!_"

"Goddamn _ouch_! Violent crazy lady!"

Despite his cries of abuse and mistreatment, Soul was glad that things were back to normal. No more secrets.

* * *

**A/N:** _I don't even... What is this utter crap? Ahahaha._

_Here's a nice silly oneshot for you guys, then!_

_I really like the idea of Soul resorting to forcing Black*Star to spy on Maka so that he can figure out what she's hiding. And Black*Star sorta just goes along with it, but thinks that Soul's a bit silly, and that he needs to man up._

_Oh, right! I forgot to mention the prompt. It was K-Pop, if that wasn't obvious! Huzzah!_


	14. Strain

**A/N:** _Sorry to those whose prompts I haven't gotten to yet, but the basics for this started floating around in my head before I could fall asleep the other night, so I need to get this written down before it disappears!_

_Much love and thanks to everyone who reviews, follows, and faves! I'm such a dork that, after updating, I leave my email open all day, waiting to see the number of messages change. It's so exciting to get proof that people enjoy these!_

_Thanks especially to regular reviewers like Lisp (half of my inspiration comes from random fangirling that goes on at 3am my time!), Mercury Soul, Sharkarella, Professor Maka, waytheballbounces, and CrazyCreator33! It means a lot to me that you guys keep coming back for more!_

_This chapter has a lot of angry, angry Soul and Maka. I imagine that when they fight, they really go all-out until they're completely burnt out, and then there's that quiet period after where they kinda-sorta make up and comfort each other, but dance around admitting that they're wrong._

* * *

**Strain**

The mission had gone wrong.

They had to back out.

And Maka hated backing out.

"You're _wrong,_ Soul. We could have finished it off! Instead, you transformed back and let it get away!" The night air was cold and dry, and the stars provided ample light for the weapon-meister pair as they flew over the city. "You're too hesitant! You have to go for the kill!" Maka was obviously frustrated; despite the blood caked on her clothes and matted in her hair, letting an enemy go free was unacceptable. It was _weak_.

Her partner's voice echoed dully from the scythe on which she sat. "Bullshit. You couldn't stand properly. We could've chased, _into an alley_, but we would've been walking into a trap, and your movement was impaired. It was a cornered beast, Maka. It had nothing to lose."

"You're _wrong_, we _had_ it I know–"

He cut her off, snapping angrily. "Shut up, Maka. Arguing will just fuck with our resonance right now, and you aren't in any shape to take a fall from the sky," growled Soul. As much as he would love to lash out at his meister, tell her she was an idiot, that she would have died, that her dying would _kill_ him, freefalling was not on Soul's to-do list for the night. Fighting would have to wait. The ensuing silence meant that Maka begrudgingly agreed.

* * *

The tension was thick when they touched down outside of their apartment.

Soul immediately shifted back to his human form with a flash of light. After cracking his neck and stretching his shoulders, taking his sweet time to adjust to his normal body, he fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the door. Maka pushed her way past him, almost tripping over their welcome mat thanks to her leg injury, then turned in the doorway, blocking Soul's entry. He scowled and waited for his meister to let him through.

"Admit you were wrong."

Soul narrowed his eyes. "Fuck off, Maka. I'm tired, and we need to get your wounds cleaned. Let me in."

She did not relent. Maka Albarn did not back down. "We let a dangerous Kishin egg keep roaming free. How can you be okay with that? Someone could get _killed_ tonight because you refused to do your job!" Her right leg wobbled, and she had to steady herself against the doorframe. Soul's eyes coolly glanced at her leg; it was trembling, and dry blood caked down the side. He remained quiet, however, and Maka was not satisfied. "_Answer_ me, Soul! How can you rest knowing that someone might get killed?!" Her voice's pitch was rising. Angry.

He pushed her aside and entered the apartment; she was in no physical condition to stop him, although her fists landed on his back and arms and she yelled at him angrily. Soul's voice was monotone when he spoke. "For someone who's supposed to be a fucking genius, you really are an idiot."

"_What _did you say?!" Maka shoved Soul against the wall, and he hit it with a dull thunk. "What the hell are you talking about? Don't talk back to me!"

Soul sneered, jeering down at his meister. "I said you're an idiot. The hell did you think that Kishin egg was gonna do, running into a dead-end alley?" His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in close. "It was going to _kill _you, idiot. You couldn't run, and you'd have nowhere to hide."

He could see hesitation flicker across her eyes for a moment before she was yelling again. "Fuck you! Are you telling me I'm weak? Are you saying that I couldn't handle that fight?!" Stupid Maka. Stupid, overconfident, _prideful_ Maka. "I'm the one who made you a Death Scythe! I helped take down Asura! I'm not weak!"

"Did I say you were?"

"You said I would have died!"

Soul sighed. He was tired. This was going nowhere. Butting heads with Maka was a normal occurrence, but it was late, the fight had lasted too long, and they still had wounds to disinfect and wrap up. "Fine, Maka. Drop it. My bad. Whatever. Let's get cleaned up and go to bed. You shouldn't be standing on that leg."

Maka kept her eyes locked on his for a moment more, then released his shirt and backed away. "I can do it myself. Go sleep." Her brow was furrowed, as if she did not know what to do with herself when the argument simply disappeared.

Soul scowled. "Maka, you have gashes all over. You can't reach everywhere." His eyes skimmed over her body, taking inventory of all the wounds he had watched happen, all the blows he could have blocked for her if she had just _let him_. "Let me help."

She scowled right back. "You've made it clear enough that you don't care if someone dies tonight, a few unbandaged cuts are nothing. You shouldn't be bothered by that." She hesitated for a moment, as if she knew her next words were horrible, wrong, something that should not be said, but they tumbled out before she could stop them. "Maybe I should find myself a weapon that actually _listens_ to me. That might be an improvement."

Pain and betrayal surged through Soul, spreading like wildfire. Then they became twisted, convoluted, transforming into rage.

Oh, well _fuck_, if _she_ wasn't going to drop it, why should he be the mature one and walk away?

Soul grabbed Maka's shoulder and pulled her towards him, then rotated so that she was the one pinned against the wall now. "You just keep on spewing out more _stupid shit_," he spat, voice low and rumbling. "How the fuck has it not gotten stuck in your big brain that I am going to protect you no matter what? I'm not a fucking sociopath, of course I care if someone might get hurt, Maka." For a moment, a fraction of a second, Soul let the hurt those words had caused be evident in his expression. Then he was once again all angry, trembling man, no trace of that shocked and confused boy. "I wouldn't risk my life as a weapon if I didn't care, but I have _priorities_." He emphasized that word with another shove on her shoulders. "It is horrible that the Kishin egg might hurt or kill someone, but I'll be damned if I let it kill you!"

He drew a ragged breath when he noticed fear in Maka's eyes. Alright, tone it down. Just a bit. Maybe walking away was a good idea. "And as for getting a new weapon..." Soul looked away, refusing to make eye contact. Once again he was just a boy, hurt and afraid. "Do what you want. I can't stop you. I told you I would be here as long as you wanted me. I'll leave if you tell me to, but not one moment sooner."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked to the bathroom, strides even but footsteps heavy. Maka could see him open the medicine cabinet and set about disinfecting his wounds.

Eventually she joined him. Without a word she removed her clothes, leaving only her undergarments. Soul shifted his attention to the cuts all over her body without being prompted.

Maka winced as the washcloth dragged against the torn flesh, and flinched again when disinfectant burned against her skin. Her body tensed as she felt Soul's breath whisper across the wounds, cooling the painful heat from the antiseptic. Always looking out for her, even with the little things... Maybe she was stupid after all.

Soul hesitated mid-breath, his lips hovering above her skin. Had he heard Maka whisper something, or was Blair making noise somewhere else in the apartment? Were they still fighting? He didn't think so; she seemed to have cooled off. Was she upset by his words? Maybe. Prioritizing her over other innocents probably wasn't her favorite thing to hear, but it was the truth. And he had not lied when he told her he would leave if she wanted him to. Did she? Soul doubted it; anger was a powerful thing. But it still stung. He couldn't stop thinking about that possible point in the future when she would send him away.

Soul gently prodded her soul's wavelength with his own to show that he wasn't upset or mocking, and quietly whispered back, "What was that, Maka?"

For a few heartbeats, the bathroom was silent save for the sound of their breathing. Then, barely a breath of air and much less a whisper, came her reply: "I'm sorry."

And, just like that, her walls were down, and the tears were flowing. The words just tumbled out of her mouth, she was _so sorry_, that was such a mean thing to say, no, she wasn't going to look for a new partner, how could she, she was just so selfish and got tunnel vision, losing just wasn't something she knew how to handle. She thanked him, barely in a whisper, for watching out for her when he knew she wouldn't do it herself. His lips grazed the skin of her bare shoulder, barely brushing against it, and he reassured her; of course he would always be there, she wasn't stupid, she couldn't have forgotten that he promised to protect her, that's just how he was and she knew it.

Their souls tangled and meshed, both seeking comfort, and their words faded out as they focused on just _feeling_ each others' thoughts. As his lips dragged across the skin of her back and shoulders, skirting around the pattern of wounds, he could feel her appreciation, her apologies, her self-consciousness, her regrets, and a warm fluttering _something_ that he didn't dare name. As goosebumps prickled her flesh wherever his lips traveled, she could feel his reassurances, his sincerity, his devotion. Despite his cool exterior, his soul was warm and comforting, and he earnestly wanted nothing but to maintain her well-being. That level of loyalty, bared in front of her plainly, coupled with the gentle pressure of his lips set her stomach aflutter.

Eventually he went back to cleaning her wounds; the water he dipped the washcloth into was pink with blood, but the cuts were clean and she no longer flinched as the disinfectant fizzled and stung (although he still let his breath cool the burn, and she let goosebumps rise wherever his breath touched).

The washcloth sank into the bloodied water as he bandaged her soon-to-be scars. It was a familiar action, a mindless activity, although never pleasant. But this time, there was no tension in the air, no silent hanging accusations, no worries that the other may be upset. If anything, it was the opposite; they both were calm and laid back, simply being _together_ and _alive_.

That was all they really needed, after all.

* * *

**A/N:** _I know I said I'd make another chapter based on the "children" prompt, but I have no guarantees as to when it'll be out! I have an idea for it, I just need time and inspiration!_

_In other news, I might be wrapping up Staccato soon and starting a new oneshot collection based on songs instead of one-word prompts. The same goes for possibly starting a collection of drabbles based on prompts (I'm thinking 100 words, 10 prompts per chapter, so a 10 chapter collection of 100 drabbles). If any of you guys know any nice lists of themes like that, let me know!_

_But never fear, Staccato isn't over yet. I have a few more ideas that I definitely want to write out when I have the time, so there will be at least five or six more chapters, I think._


	15. Highlighters

**A/N:** _So, I just finished some hardcore studying for a big test, and I ended up with highlighter stains all over my hands! I basically went through all of the information that'd be on the test, wrote it down, and color coded it with highlighters. And then BAM, inspiration._

_This sorta has the same premise that a oneshot I did many years ago (like five years ago probably), but it was obviously for another fandom and on another account (that I've deleted most stuff on, so nobody will find how terrible my writing once was!). It also is gonna end up different, but I do like the theme "highlighters," even if I now have a rainbow-colored hand._

_This is probably also more of a drabble than other chapters (other than Blood, which was pretty short). But who knows, maybe it'll be longer than I think._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Highlighters**

Soul "Eater" Evans was not the type to study for exams. In fact, he was not even the type to finish most (if any) of his homework, unless it just so happened to be group-work that his meister would finish with or without him.

Threats of books to his cranium were also a fairly effective way to get him to do homework. And thus, Soul found himself participating in the completely uncool activity of _midterm studying._

"Makaaaa," he whined, pouting at his meister from the far end of the couch they shared. "Just let me look at your notes!" Soul had been delegated the task of re-reading all of the chapters relevant to the test by his meister, which he had initially agreed to thinking it would be simple, but now he realized that the chapters were _long_ and _dense._

When Soul came to this realization and confronted his meister, Maka gave him a new assignment: "Just highlight everything that you think is important."

For a while, it seemed easy enough. Soul planned to just highlight random lines and call it a night; he had bullshitted his way through enough exams that he had no desire to actually study, so why not do that again? Sadly, Maka had other plans for her weapon.

"Why did you highlight '_that is not all_' but not the line on what genetic characteristics may predispose someone to have a meister-caliber soul?" She leaned over towards Soul and looked quizzically at his textbook. Her eyes narrowed a bit when she glanced at other things he had highlighted.

"I work in mysterious ways." Soul tried to elbow Maka away.

She stubbornly kept leaning towards him and elbowed back. "Stop bullshitting, you're just highlighting random lines."

"I would _never_."

"Soul!" Maka pouted. "This is an important exam! Our grades are averaged together, you know!"

He grumbled and leaned back. "Yeah, so? We always end up doing fine."

"That's because I always do tons of extra credit to bring up your half of the grade!" she groaned, letting her fist fall halfheartedly on his head. "It's fine other times, but this is a big test! I don't even know how well _I'm _gonna do, so just study, please?"

Soul glanced over at Maka, who was now leaning on his shoulder. _Fuck_. Maka may not have been aware, but he would follow any of her orders if she _really truly_ wanted him to. It wasn't something he would admit, but his meister had him wrapped around her pinky, although she would never use that against him... unless it meant making him study, apparently.

With a groan, he nudged her off of him and kicked his feet up onto the table. "Geez, _fine_," he mumbled, picking up his abandoned highlighter. "Don't hafta be so whiny, alright already." It took all of his willpower to control the blush that threatened to spread across his face when Maka's eyes lit up.

She grinned at him, her smile wide enough to crinkle her eyes shut. "Thanks, Soul. Really."

And so Soul studied.

And studied.

And... well, fuck, studying was _boring,_ under Maka's request or not.

Almost an entire _hour_ had passed with Soul diligently reading and highlighting (and an hour was an eternity when it came to studying), and the weapon, so very used to instant gratification and entertainment, was bored. His eyes lazily skimmed over the same lines over and over. Something something Grigori souls, something something average soul, something something meister caliber souls. Lines of white and neon yellow seemed to blur together.

Highlight what's important, huh? It sounded easy, but it was tedious. Soul glanced over at Maka. She was hunched over her notebook, occasionally looking over at her copy of their textbook and scribbling new notes in. She was so focused; Soul almost envied her ability to not get distracted. Distracted like he was.

Soul rolled the uncapped highlighter around in his fingers. He wanted to take a break. He wanted a snack (preferably sugary) and a drink (preferably soda). He wanted a nap, too. But Maka had asked him, almost _pleaded_ with him, to study for their exam. And she was important to him, so...

_Important, huh?_

"Hey, Maka."

Maka's face tilted away from her notes, but her eyes still strained to remain on the page and avoid his distracitons. "Yeah, Soul?"

She didn't even see him move, what with not looking and all, but there was a distinct moment of something cold and wet swiping across her face, from one cheek to the other and across her nose. Maka yelped in surprise and snapped up straight. "Soul! What was that? What did you do?!"

His grin did nothing to reassure her. His eyes were bright and playful as his lips pulled back into a crooked smile. "I was just following your instructions."

"You were _what_?" Her fingers came away with a neon yellow stain when she rubbed them on her face.

"You told me to highlight what was important to me, stupid." He winked –_winked!_ _Where did he get that courage?– _at her and turned back to the textbook. As if nothing had happened, he was back to studying, and Maka felt as if he was saying more than what she could understand.

Soul felt a cool moisture on his arm. When he looked, a bright neon pink streak was there, almost the same color as Maka's cheeks.

He smiled at the unspoken response to his actions.

_You're important to me, too_.

* * *

**A/N:** _So, it's been about a billion years since I've updated. Sorry! I was busy turning 20 and having tons of exams! I have another idea to work on soon, but I also have a few projects due soon, so I don't have any idea when I will be updating again._

_Rest assured that I will be doing my best, though!_

_Until then, bye bye!_


	16. Surrogate

**A/N:** _Hello, world! I'm back! Well, sort of. I never really went anywhere, I've just been busy busy. Tests, papers, projects, and preparations for finals have kept me from my lovely followers such as yourselves._

_I'll do my best to make up for it for you! I'm sorry that this chapter is so short; it's basically begging for me to continue it or give it a part two, so I'll add that to my to-do list, but I am currently swamped with work. I love you all, though!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Surrogate**

They had fallen into a pattern of rejection and comfort.

Soul would come home angry. There was always _something_ wrong with every girl he went out with. Maybe she couldn't hold a decent conversation. Maybe she just smiled and agreed with everything he said. Or maybe something just felt wrong about the way she scooted closer to him at dinner and almost whispered all her words in his ear.

Maka would hear him vent about "she's an airhead, an idiot, seriously it's as if she just spewing hot air and showing off her tits." She would quietly bring him some leftovers from dinner (there always seemed to be extra the nights he went on dates, as if she did not know how to cook for anything but two people) and sit with him on the couch as he ate in silence.

It was always the same.

A few times, the girls would last a couple of weeks. Soul referred to them as "only slightly less intolerable" than the one-date-only girls after they inevitably split. After those breakups, Maka would bring him a warm mug of hot chocolate or tea, and they would rest on the couch, his feet on the coffee table and hers crossed below her, while he looked at the ceiling and talked about how none of the girls were cool enough to pair up with him.

One night she asked him why he bothered. Why did he keep going out with girls that he knew were nothing but looks, who had nothing real to offer, if he was going to be so picky? She looked nervous, as if she may offend him with her question. He supposed that she was right; he had gone through a large number of girls, not all from Shibusen, and none had managed to reach a month of dating with him. A few times the girl had cut it off, saying he was too distant, but almost every time it was Soul instigating the breakup.

So Maka's question was perfectly valid. Why bother if he wasn't finding what he was looking for?

He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her that he was looking for another Maka, someone with whom he could just completely click, someone who would call him out for being an idiot or an ass, but who would always nudge him in the right direction. He wanted to tell her that, if she wasn't so _broken_, so afraid of anything close to love, then he wouldn't be going through girls every week.

But this was Maka, and she _was_ broken and afraid of love, so he just told her that he didn't know, that maybe it was nice to be the focus of someone's attention, and laid his head on her shoulder.


End file.
